


Cuir Cui Bono

by Sath



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Bahorel goes to law school, Blacklight at Staub's, Butts, Canon Era, Clothing Kink, Clothing Porn, Frottage, Joly's killer keister, M/M, Puns & Word Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/pseuds/Sath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bahorel and Joly put some leather trousers to the test in the dressing room at Staub's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuir Cui Bono

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StripySock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripySock/gifts).



“Bahorel, these trousers are not going to please anyone if I can’t get them on,” Joly called out from the changing room. Bahorel cut in front of the tailor’s assistant who was making a beeline for the room, and knocked on the door. 

“I hope you’re indecent, because I’m here to assist,” Bahorel said, letting himself in. 

Joly yelped and fell against a chaise longue, calfskin trousers stuck at his thighs. He covered his groin before Bahorel could measure his friend properly. 

“Those are definitely the right size,” Bahorel said. 

“Do you mind?” Joly was trying his very best to frown thunderously, but the effect was much like seeing an outraged cat – endearing, and it tempted one towards caresses. 

“Not at all.” He took a seat next to Joly and stroked his leg. “I prefer to help people out of their clothes, but I will make an exception because you’re a friend. May I?”

“I’m not going to be able to move properly,” Joly said. “The leather will make me sweat and I’ll get eczema on my testicles.” 

Bahorel rolled his eyes. “Stop hiding your cock like the virgin you aren’t. Move your legs for me, please.” 

Joly gave Bahorel one last charming glare before laying his hands flat on the chaise and lifting up his thighs. Bahorel grinned down at him. “Remember that you are putting them on, not taking them off,” Joly said.

“Coming from a pretty young thing like you, Jolllly, that wounds me.” Bahorel grasped the top of Joly’s trousers and tried to pull them up, succeeding only at pushing Joly back on the chaise. 

“Will you admit they’re too small?” Joly said, laughing. 

“It’s your arse that’s too big. Hold on to something.” 

He let out a small sound of surprise when Joly gripped his shoulders and climbed into his lap, spreading his legs over Bahorel’s thighs. Bahorel supposed Joly’s reaction was the natural end result of his flirtation. 

“Have your lovers been neglecting you so badly you’re bringing an old man to bed?” Bahorel said, dragging his hands over Joly’s exposed backside. 

“An eagle’s old age is worth a sparrow’s youth,” Joly said. “L’Aigle has returned to Meaux for the holidays and Musichetta is caught up in a grand melancholy I dare not interrupt. I add that sex is good for circulating the blood and prevents the growth of boils.” 

“If you keep going on about skin conditions,” Bahorel said, momentarily distracted by Joly nipping his neck and pressing closer, “I’ll start acting my age.” 

“Will you become a lawyer, then?” Joly asked. 

“Never,” Bahorel replied, digging his fingers into the flesh of Joly’s arse and giving the leather a savage tug upwards. He considered screwing Joly right on the chaise, but that would be a waste of the dressing room mirror, which absolutely wouldn’t do. Bahorel buttoned up the fly while Joly looked on in confusion.

“I’m dressed; how disappointing.” 

“Let’s look at you in the mirror before you start sulking,” Bahorel replied. 

Bahorel lifted Joly up out of the chaise and kissed him quiet when he started laughing again. Joly was heavier than a grisette, but as he clung to Bahorel and almost hummed with pleasure against his mouth, he determined himself to continue manfully onwards. He let Joly down reluctantly, turning him around to face the mirror but keeping them flush together. Joly was breathing fast and already showing a faint touch of color across his cheeks, his hardening cock outlined against the calfskin. 

“These are obscenely tight,” Joly said. “I can’t go outside like this.” 

“Then allow me take care of your condition.” 

Bahorel cupped Joly through his trousers as Joly moaned and bucked against Bahorel, eyes closed. Joly turned his head to kiss Bahorel with even more heat than before, willing and eager in his arms as tangled his fingers in Bahorel’s hair. He was quick with his tongue; Bossuet and Musichetta must spoil him with kisses. Bahorel reached up to unbutton Joly’s waistcoat and untie his cravat, opening up his shirt so he could drag his nails over his nipples. Joly gasped sharply and opened his eyes, seeing himself in the mirror for the first time with his clothing in disarray. 

“Would you like to watch yourself?” Bahorel asked. 

Joly nodded and let Bahorel push him closer to the wall so he could brace himself on either side of the narrow mirror. 

“You look lovely, but this shirt is dreadful and does nothing for you,” Bahorel said, taking out his knife and cutting the fine cambric of Joly’s shirt straight up the middle while Joly looked on in horror and wriggled most suggestively away from the blade.

“Are you deranged? Have you got chorea?” Joly hissed. “You’ve violated my wardrobe.”

“My dear friend, you forget that we are in Staub’s, where there are shirts _ad abundantiam_. Addendum, I am about to violate your trousers.”

“Are you buying them?” Joly’s ‘them’ trailed off into a line of breathy vowels as Bahorel continued to stroke his prick. 

“I am between mistresses at the moment, and thus am sadly out of funds. Charge our sex act to Bossuet.” 

Joly tilted his head and laughed, exposing the tender line of his neck to Bahorel’s teeth. “I will tell him exactly how it happened,” Joly replied, his throat moving under Bahorel’s mouth. 

“Ah, I thought I’d seen him flashing about his horns earlier. Keep your legs close together, Joly de Meaux.” 

Bahorel fumbled a little as he unbuttoned his fly one-handed, distracted by the way Joly was rubbing himself against Bahorel’s crotch. Joly bit his lip as Bahorel positioned his cock between Joly’s legs, the calfskin wonderfully soft. 

“ _A posteriori_ , are you planning on fucking me properly at some point, or are you just going to get off on these trousers?” Joly said. Bahorel did his best to affect an expression of displeasure, looking stormily over Joly’s shoulder as he continued to kiss Joly’s neck and moved slowly against him. “Make a habit out of testing the clothing at Staub’s, do you? Does he offer you a commission for each defiled article?” 

Bahorel ignored him in favor of slapping Joly’s arse with his free hand, earning a theatrical moan which threatened to bring the damn tailor’s assistant in to see if a customer had suddenly died. Joly’s eyes were more on himself than Bahorel, though Bahorel could hardly blame him for his self-interest. The muscles of his stomach tightened as Bahorel thrust hard, trying to knock him off his balance as punishment for being a charming tart. Joly’s legs only buckled a little, securely braced as he was. 

“Is this what Bossuet does to you?” Bahorel asked. “ _Intra femora_ or _inter alia_?” 

“We take turns,” Joly said, pressing himself impatiently against Bahorel’s hand. “He doesn’t bugger me often enough. He’ll tease me with his fingers until I’ve spent, so the only way I can have his cock is by begging to take him in my mouth.” 

“You are an utter menace,” Bahorel muttered, shoving down the trousers he had so carefully applied to Joly in one frantic movement. He imagined fucking Joly on his hands and knees, each snap of his hips making Joly swallow Bossuet deeper and _good God, he was imagining Lesgles during sex, there must be something in Staub’s leather that was deranging him_. He pressed his fingers to Joly’s lips, not even needing to ask before Joly was sucking on them, flicking his tongue and smiling at Bahorel’s reflection. Bahorel had always suspected that his friend was a libertine, but the force of the confirmation was threatening to make Bahorel finish distressingly early. He took Joly’s cock in his left hand and stroked him roughly as Joly began to moan, pushing himself still harder against Bahorel’s prick. Bahorel withdrew his fingers, regretting it immediately when Joly whined loudly. 

“You’ll bring in the tailor’s assistant,” Bahorel said. 

“Fuck me quiet, then,” Joly replied. 

Bahorel stifled his response by biting the tense skin of Joly’s shoulder much harder than was strictly necessary – Joly was a charge of indecency – and pressed his damp fingers to the cleft of Joly’s buttocks. Joly let out a harsh “please” and Bahorel prayed he wasn’t being too rough when he pushed a finger inside, but Joly groaned in pleasure and took one hand off the wall so he could yank Bahorel into a messy kiss. They quickly overbalanced and went stumbling back into the chaise longue, Joly falling awkwardly on top of him and Bahorel striking his head sharply against Staub’s wall, setting them both off into a fit of laughter. Joly squirmed off while Bahorel was still distracted with the absurdity of it all and managed to wriggle out of his trousers, throwing them towards the door with a certain contempt. He settled himself over Bahorel in nothing but his wrecked shirt and brightly colored stockings.

“Doctor, I think I am concussed,” Bahorel said. The back of his head really was twinging and the hard wood of the wall at his back was not helping. 

Joly made a show of checking Bahorel’s eyes, making him open his mouth to poke at Bahorel’s tongue. “It is merely a headache. You must expel your excess fluids at once and return to your earlier activities up the doctor’s arse, two fingers at once.” 

Bahorel was nothing if not obedient to the recommendations of the medical profession, even when represented by a young man set upon giving him an erotic heart attack. Joly’s lips curled into a silent, satisfied “ah” when Bahorel’s fingers entered him and he leaned forward to wrap his hand around their cocks, kissing a trail along Bahorel’s jawline with one hand fisted in Bahorel’s waistcoat. It occurred to Bahorel as he grabbed Joly’s backside, feeling his muscles tighten with every thrust, that they were fast approaching a sexual turning point. 

“We’re going to ruin my clothes; change position,” Bahorel said, moving his fingers faster and deeper to watch Joly’s thighs tremble. 

“I’ve always said your waistcoats are a cri- by God, Bahorel, if you stop now just to flip me over I am going to poison your wine,” Joly said, his words running together. 

Joly was moaning loud enough for all of Staub’s to hear, requiring Bahorel, with great reluctance, to release his grip on Joly’s arse and cover his mouth. His friend hardly appeared to notice, so far gone he’d closed his eyes and his movements had turned loose and desperate. Bahorel kissed Joly’s eyelids out of some unexpected tenderness at seeing him so undone and Joly came with a muffled gasp. Bahorel’s last coherent thought before his own orgasm was 'Staub launders things as well, doesn’t he?' and his waistcoat was sacrificed to extravagance. 

The tailor’s assistant’s frantic pounding at the door completely ruined any potential for afterglow. 

“Messieurs! Please finish whatever you are doing to our clothes and come out before I use my key!” the assistant said. 

Bahorel finished by taking off his waistcoat, scrunching it into a ball as best he could, and hiding it under one of the chaise longue’s pillows. 

“Your trousers have a poor fit!” Bahorel shouted back, using a fine woollen throw to clean them up while Joly bit his sleeve to keep from laughing aloud. “My friend has only just now escaped their clutches, so have a little patience while he restores himself to decency.” 

“Five more minutes,” the assistant huffed. “Then, the key.” 

Joly waited for the sound of footsteps leading away from the door before he said, “I am not sure we have a full outfit between us anymore.” 

“I’ve had potentially more embarrassing things happen to me in a dressing room,” Bahorel replied. “Merely act outraged if anyone asks you about your sartorial state or your post-coital glow and imply that it is the result of some freak of the asker’s nature.” 

“With old age comes sagacity,” Joly said, rising to his feet and offering a hand to help Bahorel up. “You should spend an evening with me and L’aigle when he returns from Meaux.”

“Will Musichetta be joining us?” Bahorel asked, because he was greedy. 

“If it pleases her, I’m sure she will,” he said, affecting innocence. “Now, help me back into my trousers and don’t fuck them this time.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an exciting mistranslation of Bahorel's advice to Joly about buying trousers that are 'cuir de laine' - while cuir de laine is in fact a type of milled wool, 'cuir' simply means leather and promises a much more exciting trip to Staub's than woolen trousers. I know little to nothing about period clothing, so if I have made egregious errors, feel free to comment upon them. 
> 
> The title is a terrible pun. 'Cui bono' is legal Latin for 'to whose benefit' and 'cuir' as aforementioned, is French for leather. 
> 
> Latin phrasing notes:
> 
> ad abundantiam - in legal phrasing, indicates the addition of evidence when there is already quite enough, can be used outside of the law to mean "as if that wasn't enough"
> 
> a posteriori - legalese for 'based on previous knowledge', literally means 'from the latter' 
> 
> intra femora - 'coitus intra femora' was college slang on both sides of the pond for frottage between the thighs
> 
> inter alia - means 'among other things', but is also a legal term for when something is quoted outside of a larger context in the minutes


End file.
